


To Fall Back On

by Derry Rain (smakibbfb)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smakibbfb/pseuds/Derry%20Rain
Summary: Thomas and Edward, a little slice of life.For Terror Bingo, squareEngland.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Edward Little
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	To Fall Back On

There is frost on the window again; Thomas pushes his finger against the glass, until a small patch of it is melted beneath his touch. The wood of the windowsill creaks as he leans forward, tracing a line from the top corner to the bottom. A small track of condensation follows his movements. 

Behind him, he can hear Thisbe shifting her great wolfhound frame beside the newly lit fireplace, yawning loud as she stands, stretches herself tall in the grey light of the winter morning. Edward will be down soon.

Outside the window, there are already people wandering on the street and Thomas watches them go about their business, the wine-reds and festive greens of their winter clothing making them look to him like nothing more than some pageant display. He presses his knuckles to the line he has drawn on the window, wiping the frost away.

“I hear there’s a market on today,” Edward says, as he enters the room. His dark blue robe is pulled tight around his middle and Thomas can see the shape of him reflected, warped in the cold glass. “Would you like to go?”

Thomas leans back on his heels, wiping the water that has collected on the back of his hand down against the curtain. He shakes his head without looking back. “Don’t feel like it,” he says, simply. Edward doesn’t say anything in return and Thomas hears the light pad of his steps as he moves away.

There’s a clatter from the small kitchen they share, and soon the scent of freshly brewed tea makes its way through the room. Thomas stands from his perch on the windowsill and steps over to the doorway, leaning his weight upon it as he watches Edward move around the battered stove. 

“You should let me do that,” he says. Edward snorts. 

“I absolutely should not.”

It’s an old argument and one they keep having more out of habit than anything else. Thomas has made no move to help him with breakfast, and Edward doesn’t expect him to. Since they have returned to England - no, since before then, since they had spent those months of recovery up in Canada, he has made it his mission to take care of Thomas, to see that his every need is answered almost before it has made itself known. There’s a spike of guilt and sorrow in every movement he makes these days, and Thomas wishes that he was a good enough man to soothe it away. But he remembers harsh sunlight on the back of his neck, sharp stone beneath his belly, and hazy dark shapes of men disappearing over the horizon. He can forgive, has forgiven, Edward all of it, has told him so on many sleepless nights, through words, through touches, through kisses, but for all of that, he still cannot  _ forget _ .

“We could go for a walk then,” Edward suggests. He places a steaming hot mug of tea in front of Thomas and a plate of buttered toast in the centre of the table. Thisbe, tiptoeing his clumsy way towards the two of them, leans his chin on the table and looks up at Thomas with huge, pleading eyes. Thomas smiles and ruffles a hand through the dog’s thick fur. 

“No,” he tells her. “You have already had your breakfast.”

Thisbe harrumphs and shifts her attention to Edward, who is failing to inconspicuously slide a heavily buttered piece of bread over to her. When he catches Thomas’s eye, he just shrugs.

“She needs fattening up,” he says. Thomas snorts as the dog takes the toast with surprising gentleness in her massive jaws and disappears underneath the table to eat it. Contented chewing noises sound somewhere uncomfortably close to Thomas’s sock. 

“So do you,” Thomas says. It’s true. He remembers Edward as a large man, imposing in stature. He isn’t sure if it’s their familiarity now, or the ravages of their time in the Arctic, which make him seem somehow frailer, smaller. He’s put on weight since returning to England - they both have - but there’s little left of the grand first lieutenant that once stood stalwart before the men under his care. 

The toast itself is swimming with beautiful, creamy butter; Thomas can feel it running down his chin and he tries to wipe it away, grimacing at the feeling of grease. He cannot bear yet to take the same large bites as Edward, his stomach still clenches at the idea of a full meal. But Edward likes the richness of it, likes to spoil Thomas by bringing home to them only the finest ingredients. If they have to eat simply still, he will not let them eat poorly. It is a good thing, Thomas often thinks, that Edward has recourse other than his retirement pay, and that Thomas knows well how to save pennies before they turn into wasted pounds, else the two of them would have long spent their earnings on these treats and fineries. 

“Where were you thinking?” Thomas asks, returning to the earlier suggestion. “There won’t be many people in the park today, too cold.”

Edward sniffs at the word. 

“Down by the small pond, it will be nearly empty, if we time it right,” Thomas adds.

Edward says nothing, but takes another piece of bread. He chews it with a thoughtful air. 

“There will be skating at the lake,” he says, then, hurriedly noting Thomas’s sudden change in expression. “That’s where they’ll all be, I mean. You’re right. We’ll have the pond to ourselves.”

Thisbe’s tail thumps heavily against Thomas’s leg, and he scratches behind her ears. 

“Well, us and Thisbe.”

“Us and Thisbe,” Edward agrees. His foot runs down Thisbe’s flank and the large dog rolls heavy on her back, pressing up against Thomas’s shin so that her belly can receive the same attention. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound the pleased grunting of a well-loved pet.

“It’s warm in here though,” Thomas says, voice quiet. 

Edward nods. “You know,” he says, with his most gentle tone, the one that means he has understood exactly what Thomas has not said out loud. “Captain Fitzjames, he sent over a few new books the other day. It might be nice to spend a day reading.” He reaches out, places a hand heavy and solid over Thomas’s own. “Would you read to me, Tom?” he asks.

Thomas smiles. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes. That sounds nice.”


End file.
